There is a funeral pyre
I built as I walk.
A parade of orange flames
down the street,
blue centers lapping like puppies
trying to get my attention.
And I let that ache burn
with the ashy residue
that lies thick on
all my clothes
and the tongue where
I kissed you.
I left the love, I left the lover
but, Oh! the embers wear me round my neck like a like an sailor's orange sky
Struck a match to patch the hole.
And everywhere I go I am the mourner and the deceased.
Outliving the everlasting,
wearing thin evermore.
sahn
8/9/16